


an ever jarring moment

by fiachs



Category: Todd Allison & the Petunia Violet
Genre: Getting Together, Healthy Coping Mechanisms, M/M, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 03:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11935359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiachs/pseuds/fiachs
Summary: Secrets are meant to be kept. A promise between two entities that what passes through lips to mouth stays between that cycle. That it will not pass through a separate set of lips to a different pair of ears.





	an ever jarring moment

Secrets are meant to be kept. A promise between two entities that what passes through lips to mouth stays between that cycle. That it will not pass through a separate set of lips to a different pair of ears. Secrets such as these, now, are reserved for the slightly slanted roof of the shared home that Marcus, Dylan, and Roland.

It’s brown and catches on the material of pleated pants, leaving small indents in hands when they press down on top of it to lift themselves up once the sun starts to rise, and sounds like stones crunching between boots on a boardwalk.

But now it’s dark and the moon is still high, the sky and Roland is nowhere to be found.

“Are you okay?”

Blunt and to the point as always, Marcus eyes cut across the illuminated roof to Dylan. Marcus, whose outline is still a stark contrast against the naturally dark backdrop of their little part of town. Marcus, who always knows more than he lets on, and chooses his words carefully in these private moments.

Marcus is good and solid and everything he doesn’t think he deserves, and so Dylan looks to Marcus smiling sweetly with crinkles by his eyes.

“I’m fine. Better than fine!” 

It comes out harsh and the smile on Dylan's face is all teeth, pearly white, and forced that the corners of his lips start to twitch just beneath his eyes. Just fine, he thinks to himself. Just that and only that. Marcus watches him carefully, contemplating, as if thinking of the next words to use that may be less blunt, or perhaps decorated with some rare bit of sweetness.

These are the moments where Dylan can expect those rare piece of honey drips from generally slanted lips.

“You can tell me if something’s bothering you…”

“I’m fine.”

“You know I won’t judge you…”

“I said I’m fine!”

Dylan's hands go to the hair, his cheeks red and the top button on his shirt undone. Enough, he thinks, of the baiting of having this person beside him that is all good and wonderful and half buried in the ground. He thinks of Marcus, who he cannot have in the way he wants, and looks to him with strained eyes that are both nostalgic and melancholy. 

Marcus meets his eyes. They don’t share the same damp gleam under the moon, nor the daze of fantasy and magical days to come with each new day. They only exist, as such, and stay focused on their companion pair. Marcus lips press together and he turns his eyes away finally, looking out to the empty streets underneath them.

Off in the distance they can hear a trash can being knocked over, either by a child or animal or some combination of both. Neither of them comment on it. Dylan's hands fold over one another, itchy and restless. Marcus’ stay on either side of his body, not even bothering to pick at the shingles underneath them that keeps out the rain and harsh weather. 

“I just want you to know that I’m always here if you need me.”

Such a contrast to earlier when Dylan ran back into Petunia after so long, with all the hand holding and ideas of grandeur. (And at night the open eyed stares at the living room ceiling about what meeting Elijah again will mean, and how he will feel and what he might do.) Marcus offers more than just an olive branch now. There’s no reason for either of them to surrender.

Relationships were built on understanding, on communication, meeting in a mutual battleground and weighing the importance of one another’s positives and negatives. 

“I know... I…” 

Dylan loses the words after that with so much to say that it weighs on the back of his tongue. The year spent together dancing, singing, gathering whatever money they manage to collect each day to make sure their bills can be paid and there is heat by their feet when the winter months come. Middays spent wandering about the streets of Melbourne with ideas swimming about in their heads; Marcus with his cap on to shield his eyes from the sun, and Dylan with hair like spun sugar.

Marcus is watching him again now, still silent. The sun will rise in an hour or so and they’ll have to go back inside where Roland will already be making breakfast. Hana, who slept over the night before, will still be curled up on the sofa with Norah in the chair beside her. Soon the house will be filled with a myriad of voices and Dylan will wear his smile thin throughout the day until night comes again, and he finds himself on the roof with Marcus beside him once more.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They smile at that. Marcus’ small and Dylan with a light mist in his eyes. It’s nights like these that Dylan let's shine through how tired he is - it’s the roof that he shows Marcus how an unsuccessful day hurts him so. And Marcus lets him unload it all. Sometimes their hands hold one another, sometimes Dylan cries into Marcus’ shoulder, and when the sun finally rises, neither of them bring up the night before again. 

“Dylan, can I tell you something?”

“Yes, anything. Always, Marcus. Whatever you need.” 

Always so ready to be the receiver for his few words but far from softer friend. Marcus regards him for the third time that night and something behind his eyes changes finally. His fingers pick - once, twice - at the roofing underneath them and Dylan feels his heart start to speed up. It’s almost unlike him, save for the moments when even the strongest people need to relax the steel wall built around them. 

Dylan's hands continue to twist over one another even after Marcus stops his picking. 

Another moment passes before Marcus sighs, low and deep, as if he’s letting go of something pent up and harsh. But never towards Dylan himself, and he knows that. Everything Marcus does is for the betterment of him, and Roland, and the people around him that he cares for. He leaves the sugarcoating for Dylan who has always been much better at it than he.

Marcus moves then. He reaches over and gently grabs one of Dylan's hands, turning it over once before holding onto it tightly. Much more tightly than Dylan could have imagined and it makes his heart almost start to hurt. So much anticipation in waiting for Marcus to share what he’s been keeping inside, locked up and away as to not bother anyone else around him.

“I love you.”

The sound that comes from Dylan's throat is strangled. It’s pained and it’s raw and oh, the sweetness that fills his mouth what he takes a steady breath in. What a declaration - friends for years, always watching out for one another in their own way. A love, no doubt, but to what extent Dylan has always been careful to tread about. To express more than that would surely chase Marcus away, or worse, lock him up with no way of coming back inside.

Instead he’s shared a warmth, and it makes him weak.

“You beautiful fool.”

Dylan could weep if given the chance. He hurries to cup Marcus face with his hands and kiss him earnestly. It’s not their first kiss, but certainly the first that holds more meaning than a few glasses of wine or a celebration with pink cheeks. 

“You’re not supposed to say that until at least the third date, don’t you know that?” 

But the smile is hard to misinterpret as Dylan pulls away from the kiss, breathless and fingertips shaking against the ends of Marcus hair by his cheeks.

“I won’t say it until after that, then.”

Dylan yelps, whines, as Marcus states so bluntly his intentions. It’s all jokes, Dylan knows, but some habits were hard to quit.

“Marcus! You wouldn’t. You’ve already told me, what am I supposed to do? Oh you cruel man.”

It’s Marcus that laughs now. It’s low and deep and somehow soft despite all of that and Dylan squeezes the hand in his harder. He’ll say that he loves him back, surely, when he has more strength and hopes that Marcus knows that.

The smiles that Marcus gives him when the laughter has died down confirms that, and Dylan leans forward for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> getting back into writing for the things i enjoy so here, have this. it's for a friend of mine, R. 
> 
> it's a shame what happened to the writer of todd allison but at least the fans can enjoy what they can, where they can. 
> 
> much love to everyone who reads, comments, and/or leaves kudos. xo


End file.
